


Flint and Steel

by stephanericher



Series: SASO 17 [10]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 20:31:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11169510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: The one where Tatsuya stays but still can't let it go





	Flint and Steel

**Author's Note:**

> for saso br1, prompt [here](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21931.html?thread=10958763#cmt10958763)

It seems like every day Tatsuya pushes himself even harder, fighting invisible demons before they appear on the court; every time Shuuzou suggests a break he cuts it short if he takes it at all. There’s a flaw in his shot he sees but Shuuzou can’t, something about it, the way it hangs beautifully like a setting moon, captivating almost as much as his face and voice, that he hates. But there’s something about every facet of himself Tatsuya hates or at least is dissatisfied with—Shuuzou supposes that without that, he might not have become what he is.  
  
He catches the tail end of a conversation Tatsuya has with Alex, that she tells him “he’s playing with monsters” and the set of Tatsuya’s jaw, hurt and anger and resolve so familiar but something else playing in his features, something Shuuzou doesn’t know the quirks of his face well enough to recognize.  
  
The chain around his neck swings like a pendulum, and Tatsuya stuffs it down his shirt, goes out for another round of shot after shot, coaxes Shuuzou into going against him, wins like he always does (because he can afford to be on the court all the time, so much more than Shuuzou can, and he’s on even more than that, borrowing time against everything else). And still, Shuuzou thinks, things might be getting better. Tatsuya’s no open book and Shuuzou’s at the point where he can say he knows Tatsuya well enough that he’s starting to grasp how much he doesn’t know, how the beautiful, open cavern spirals off into the distance but he can’t quite find an entrance let alone try to guess what’s in there (other than the obvious outlines, his heart, the truth, the parts of him he hates the most, that aren’t apparent even from his self-destructive streak). But he’s fighting less; he’s letting Shuuzou pull him into his arms more (and staying there); he’s letting Shuuzou in, letting himself be messier and more grounded, less mysterious but no less captivating (as if he thinks he could be).  
  
He thinks, at first, of introducing Tatsuya to Teppei (who insists on first names even though they’d barely known each other way back when, or what was only a few years ago but seems like another era, because he wants to do things “the real American way”, or so he claims while playing cards with Shuuzou’s father and gossiping with him about the other patients). Teppei’s not the kind of guy who would begrudge Tatsuya his health or his skill level, and he’d like to think they’d get along (be it based on basketball or the fact that they’re both a little shifty in not exactly the same way). But he doesn’t, at first; with Tatsuya he’s always preoccupied and with Teppei and his father he’s always feeling a little left out (not that he wants to be sick or hurt) and a little bit weird. When he tells Tatsuya, Tatsuya doesn’t laugh. He considers Shuuzou’s words, then laces his fingers between Shuuzou’s.  
  
“You’re jealous, right?”  
  
It’s not an accusation, just a question and Shuuzou hadn’t even thought about it that way but that’s it, isn’t it? Teepee connects with his father over something like a card game, and even now Shuuzou’s relationship with his father is hardly free from contention.  
  
“My brother gets on better with my dad, though,” says Shuuzou.  
  
“Your brother’s eleven,” says Tatsuya. “Teppei’s your age.”  
  
And of course Tatsuya cuts to the heart of it again, simplifying the situation and getting it right even without knowing Teppei at all. Shuuzou squeezes his hand; that needs to change (jealousy or no, Teppei’s still his friend and his father’s).  
  
The first thing Teppei does is (of course) to ask about the thing Shuuzou never can  
  
“Is that a ring on your necklace?” Teppei asks.  
  
Shuuzou looks over; the ring’s escaped from the deep neckline of Tatsuya’s shirt, chain spilling over the edges. Tatsuya nods, pulling the rest out; if his hand drops a little too quickly Shuuzou might be the only one who notices.  
  
“There was this American guy on my school team, Kagami, from LA. He had one just like that, maybe a little different.”  
  
The pulse in Tatsuya’s thumb quickens under Shuuzou’s hand under the table; his face remains in its usual mask. When he speaks, his tone is more pleasant and warm than usual, almost sharply.  
  
“Is that so? It was a trend a while back, so that’s not surprising.”  
  
“He seemed pretty attached to it,” says Teppei. “Like, he was devastated when he lost it.”  
  
Tatsuya nods, seemingly in sympathy, and Shuuzou wonders what the odds are, especially when Tatsuya’s pulse is racing harder, thumping against Shuuzou’s skin, when his grip’s slackened just enough to tell how constricted his hand is in its place, even if it’s not holding Shuuzou’s. A ring, a chain, symbolizing something Tatsuya’s afraid to talk about and Shuuzou doesn’t know how to ask.  
  
If he’s being honest with himself, he’s a little afraid, too. It’s not just that Tatsuya’s the kind of guy he is, skittish and wary and overprotective of the boundaries he sets and moves without warning. That he’s been dealing with for two years, two years of reaching and waiting, patiently, until he grows stiff but he doesn’t let himself waver, until somehow it proves whatever Tatsuya needs to let him another fraction of a step inside. He’s afraid of what it all means, something that even after all this time is hidden away inside of him, some part of Tatsuya that will never be his. Some part of Tatsuya that belongs to someone else, maybe this Kagami person who doesn’t treasure his ring the way Tatsuya treasures the one on his neck, the one he won’t let Shuuzou’s fingers accidentally brush. (Maybe that’s being unfair to Kagami, but when it comes to Tatsuya Shuuzou’s not inclined to be forgiving.)  
  
It’s like Tatsuya’s punishing himself now, always moving his hands to his throat to stuff his necklace back under his shirt (he never considers wearing a higher neckline, and Shuuzou is selfishly glad of that). He practices more, cuts himself no slack, refuses to stop and admire even his best shots as they fall through. Shuuzou would say, if he didn’t know any better, it’s as if Tatsuya hates basketball, but that’s a gross misrepresentation. Tatsuya loves it fiercely, deeply; he will never let it go, never let it leave his body. It shines through when they play each other, Tatsuya slowly inching ahead and lighting enough of a fire under Shuuzou to compete with him, to empty his reserves every time.  
  
Shuuzou’s jealousy of Teppei subsides; it’s easier when Teppei and his father invite them to play cards or dominoes together (even if Shuuzou doesn’t get the games) and let him into their conversation; Shuuzou’s place (if there is such a thing) has never been in any danger, and there’s enough room for them all to fit comfortably. With Teppei and Tatsuya it’s a little bit different, a little more charged, the name that always pops into Shuuzou’s head but he’s never said out loud. He’s thought about asking Alex, but if it’s Tatsuya’s to tell Shuuzou’s not going to go behind his back. He’s had practice being patient.  
  
Tatsuya slips the ring under his collar again; Teppei’s eyes openly follow the gesture.  
  
“Kagami always wears his on the outside.”  
  
“Didn’t you say he lost it?” Tatsuya says, perhaps on the pretense of correcting Teppei’s vastly-improved English.  
  
“Oh, yeah,” says Teppei. “For like an hour, though, this kid on another team found it.”  
  
Tatsuya nods, and Shuuzou wonders why now? (A stupid suspicion, entirely unfounded, that maybe Teppei’s know everything the whole time.)   
  
Tatsuya eases up just a little after that, like he’ll let himself breathe, and Shuuzou starts to think maybe this is the time to ask. Maybe this is when Tatsuya will open up like a leaf unfurling from the stalk on its own; maybe he’ll tell Shuuzou everything. Shuuzou tries to encourage him, smile more, give him room to say something if he wants to. And, a few times, it looks as if he will.  
  
Akashi’s match comes out of nowhere, but Shuuzou’s a little excited to watch the kids all play together and see Teppei’s teammates, of whom he’s already so proud. Even Tatsuya says it’ll be interesting to see what Jabberwock does after their last match, and leaves it at that, even though there are a million things Shuuzou could ask him.  
  
From the start, watching the game makes him want to be there. God, he misses being on a real team; he misses being on a team with those kids and with everyone else; he misses seeing some of that shit they pulled—and what they can do now is almost too much to believe. Shuuzou stops asking if Teppei and Tatsuya just fucking saw that after every shot, because they did. Teppei points out Kagami and Kuroko, telling them to pay close attention like Shuuzou doesn’t know Kuroko’s invisible-kid act already. And like Tatsuya needs to be told.  
  
He’s reaching for the ring but won’t let himself touch it; he’s staring at the screen; he’s quiet through almost the whole match. Every few seconds, Shuuzou will glance away from the action and it feels like diving into an ice bath, from excitement mingled with a need to get out and play himself, right fucking now, to the look on Tatsuya’s face, distracted the way his mom had looked right before his dad’s last surgery. He puts his hand on Tatsuya’s knee; Tatsuya doesn’t even notice for a minute or two, and when he does he looks down like he’s considering holding it or pushing it away but in the end he does nothing.  
  
Teppei has to leave almost immediately after for physical therapy, but promises they can talk about it more later. If he notices anything about Tatsuya he doesn’t say. Once he’s out of sight, Tatsuya sits down on a stone bench, stretching out his legs and looking at anything but Shuuzou. Shuuzou sits down beside him and waits, letting the silence stretch like fresh elastic until it’s clear that Tatsuya’s going to wait him out if he has to.  
  
“Hey. Talk to me.”  
  
Tatsuya is quiet; the clouds over the distant mountains roll away, even more distant in the harsh blue sky.  
  
“I will never be that good,” Tatsuya says, scuffing the ground with his shoe. “I’ll never catch up.”  
  
His voice frays on the last syllable like an old phone charger, sparking to light up the caves inside of him and suddenly Shuuzou sees, if only for a second. This is where it all leads to, all of the anger and self-loathing, all of the perceived inadequacy, merging into one single, taut thread, made of barbed steel, cutting him from the inside. This is the weight around his neck, the thing that pushes him, the voice that says he’ll never catch up but if he doesn’t kill himself trying then he’ll fall further behind. It all goes dark again, but Shuuzou knows now. Tatsuya’s hands are flat on his knees; Shuuzou reaches for one. Tatsuya doesn’t shove him away, but he doesn’t turn it over and receive either. Shuuzou waits.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
Tatsuya looks at him, something raw but just as elusive as always written across his face, like he wants to question it but he’s afraid to say anything, afraid of making Shuuzou think twice about having said that (as if he could, as if this is some kind of shaky conditional). Now is not the time to say it, not the time to overburden or overwhelm Tatsuya, but if he could—Shuuzou wraps Tatsuya into his arms; Tatsuya sags into his chest, and Shuuzou thinks, fierce and bright, enough, he hopes, to get the warmth of his sentiments through to Tatsuya, how much he loves him--all of him, what he is and not what he could be, all the mess and complication and everything he’s afraid to show, all the rough edges and all the lovely parts he thinks don’t count for shit or that he looks at and still sees inadequacy.   
  
And Shuuzou feels his own inadequacy here, pressing at his chest; he can’t promise that Tatsuya will ever get there; he can’t promise him, for all his skill and dedication, that he will ever be like that, and he doesn’t know how to make him see that what he has is special and beautiful and fucking spectacular sometimes (he won’t say in its own way, even to himself, because that’s nowhere near the meaning, an unnecessary comparison; Tatusya’s made too many himself). But he can’t dwell on that; he’s not going to let that stick and he’s going to do whatever he can to help Tatsuya slip the weights off his wings, this need, this paralyzing drive.  
  
And, that game, for whatever it had done, had still been damn good basketball, and the urge to get up and play is still humming through Shuuzou’s limbs, and Tatsuya’s still tense in his arms, like an animal poised to make an aggressive move.  
  
“One on one?”  
  
Maybe it’s not a good idea; maybe facing his demons right now isn’t what Tatsuya needs. But then he looks up, face already blazing, and that’s almost wiped from Shuuzou’s mind.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
His voice is dry like the strips of paper used to start a campfire, ready to snap at the ends. Shuuzou doesn’t let go of his hand the whole way to the court.


End file.
